


Handmade

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Courtship, Dwarf Courting, Gift Giving, M/M, Male Slash, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: There are rules to Dwarven courting. A Hobbit decides to follow them, in his own unique way.





	Handmade

 

 

 

_When a Dwarf wishes to court another, they begin by offering a handmade gift._

 

Thorin had returned to his royal quarters for the first time since early that morning. Most of his days now were occupied by many hours of meetings, considering trade, guilds, forges, mines and disputes. It was wearying but Thorin never allowed that to publicly show on his face. No Dwarf, Man or Elf would hold an accusation against him.

 

Now he frowned and touched a hand to his temple, to the pounding pain that had been lodged there for several days. He was a warrior and a blacksmith and a king and was used to hours of toil, physical and mental. But his body, so soon after nearing death, was still recovering. It was still too weak.

 

Thorin removed his cloak and crown, the latter being laid close at hand. He sat with a sigh so gusty that no one else should hear it. The King under the Mountain should be strong and relentless. And after almost entering the shining halls, all should see him undeterred and unyielding now.

 

It was as Thorin rubbed at his head again that he noticed the smell – it was something sweet, different to the sweetened breads the kitchens prepared. Thorin frowned; who had entered his quarters when he had been absent? He had a hand on a dagger as he stood to search the room and was about to call in the guard that always stood beyond his door when he spotted an unassuming tankard, sweet steam rising from its mouth.

 

It was an ordinary tankard from the kitchen, Thorin recognised Dwarven craftsmanship, but the drink it contained did not appear to match. Thorin raised the tankard closer and was reminded, quite suddenly, of Bilbo Baggins’ house. The thought took him so aback, he almost spilled the drink. But hadn’t that smell been part of the strangeness of Mr Baggins’ home? It’d been so small and fussy, full of nonsense trinkets and unusual smells.

 

Thorin tested a drop on his tongue. The drink was honeyed and warm; Thorin seemed to recall Mr Baggins muttering once about the comforts of home and a good night drink. Perhaps this was what he’d meant.

 

Thorin sat down once more, tankard in hand, and gazed at the steam rising from it, rich with evocative scent.

 

*

 

_The courting Dwarf spends time with his intended’s family_

 

The sound of steel on steel was far from unusual in Erebor. But the sound of Mr Baggins, grunting about the weight of metal he was being asked to wield and about Fili and Kili enjoying themselves far too much, was.

 

Thorin would not have believed it, had he not seen it with his own eyes. But there was Mr Baggins, hands forming a competent grip on the hilt of the short sword that has become his on the quest, listening as Fili and then Kili gave him instructions on how to use it properly. Dwalin was stood watching keenly, likely to assess the boys as much as Mr Baggins.

 

The Hobbit was down to his shirtsleeves and looked a little red in the face from effort but Fili and Kili were good with him; laughing and complimenting and swinging their own blades hard enough to rattle when they met Mr Baggins’ short sword. Mr Baggins didn’t look particularly happy with the lessons but he continued to participate. It would be some time before he was even close to being adequate with a sword but his reactions were good.

 

Thorin watched until he felt Dwalin’s gaze and withdrew silently for now. He couldn’t say why he didn’t make himself more known or why he did not offer his own expertise as he had when his nephews had first undergone lessons with Dwalin. Now Fili and Kili were the teachers, grown and scarred and with the great responsibility upon them that they had been taught since birth. They offered Bilbo different guidance.

 

*

 

_The courting Dwarf will demonstrate exacting adherence to protocol, especially any specific to the house of the Dwarf they are courting._

 

The arrival of Dis was as grand as any Dwarf expected. There were loud trumpets and drums and songs being roared from the approaching hoard, all glad to be within sight of Erebor. Thorin wore his crown and gold-embroidered cloak, a sword on his belt and his nephews at his side. Kili was trembling, his eyes searching the crowds for his mother, while Fili was calm and steady, dressed grandly as Durin heir apparent. It suited him well.

 

Thorin’s anticipation was as well hidden as Fili’s. It had been many months since he’d last seen Dis, they hadn’t parted on well terms. She had never agreed that recovering Erebor was of the utmost importance and had been furious that her sons were to join Thorin on such a quest, convinced that they would come to irreparable harm. They were scarred, true, but they lived. They had triumphed. She should not have doubted him.

 

There she was, at the front of the second group, dressed in purple and silver, not even a single bead of gold. Dis had shunned it since they were children. Her circlet was new – silver and formed of intertwining strands. The look in her eyes was not; bright and proud. Whatever worries she held, they were kept well back.

 

Thorin’s heart thumped a little quicker; finally, the surviving Durins were to be reunited in the home that was rightfully theirs. The Blue Mountain Dwarves came to a halt before Erebor’s open gates and a smart trumpet blast erupted, heralding the start of proclamations.

 

“Hail to Thorin, King Under the Mountain!”

 

Thorin nodded and a Dwarf from Erebor responded, “Hail to Princess Dis of Durin’s Line.”

 

Dis spread her gaze across the multitude of Dwarves crammed beyond the gates to witness her arrival. Her lips pulled into the slightest smile before she spoke.

 

“We come, to reunite with kin and celebrate this great moment – of Dwarves in Erebor again.”

 

There was a roaring cheer. Thorin stepped forward now, facing his sister. Her expression did not change; no flicker of how she truly felt on the doorstep of the Mountain. Thorin looked anyway. This was where they were all meant to be. She should be glad of it.

 

“We welcome you, brothers and sisters of the Blue Mountains, to your true home.”

 

There was another cheer as Thorin and Dis clasped hands; two leaders in agreement. The official welcome concluded, Thorin hugged his sister, a gesture she tightly returned. The cheers rose to a greater volume at that. As was expected, Kili and Fili were next to approach, clasping their mother’s hand before she hugged them together for long moments, murmuring fierce and loving Kazdul. That was also expected.

 

She let them go to greet the rest of the official welcoming party; though she doubtless wished to spend more time with her sons. But Dis’ face was as plainly pleasant as before, with no tremors to it. She would follow protocol, even now. She was a Durin Princess. She nodded to Balin and Dwalin and jovially hugged Dain who was full of words about the stories he’d heard tell about her exploits and that he later wanted to see if her sword was still as sharp as her tongue. The two of them had always had an utter ease to their relationship beyond the battlefield that Thorin could not see the way to.

 

When Dis laid eyes on Mr Baggins, who stood quietly besides Balin, she didn’t look surprised. When exchanging letters after the battle, Thorin had mentioned the Hobbit who had been part of the quest for Erebor. He hadn’t given many details as he had no desire to discuss dragon fever with his sister again. She was frequently unreasonable and too cautious about it, even if she had been right this time.

 

Mr Baggins, for his part, bowed neat and slow, a very correct bow to make to the Princess of Erebor. Dis smiled warmly and took steps closer in a manner that immediately concerned Thorin.

 

“This must be the Hobbit I’ve heard such songs about,” Dis declared, her tone approving and grateful even if her words were not.

 

Mr Baggins coloured slightly but bowed again, equally correct as before, “Thank you. I’m honoured to meet you, Your Highness.”

 

Dis’ smile widened as she responded. “You and I have much to talk about, Mr Baggins. You will sit with me tonight when we eat.”

 

Then she swept into the Mountain, calling for the Blue Mountain Dwarves to follow her home once more. They responded immediately, with laughs and shouts of greeting to kin beyond the gates. Kili and Fili went after their mother, murmuring together in a way far too like her as they hooked Mr Baggins into conversation, his steps quick beside them.

 

Thorin followed too, of course, as did everyone else, eager for the reunions to continue. When Balin reached his side, Thorin already had his suspicions. His old friend was raising a quizzical eyebrow, too much twinkle in his gaze.

 

“How is it Mr Baggins knew how to greet my sister?” Thorin asked evenly.

 

Balin’s eyebrows did not drop and his eyes became full of vexing amusement. This was the effect Dis had on too many.

 

“There’s many here happy to teach him, Your Highness. And he’s a very willing pupil.”

 

*

 

_The courting Dwarf will show willingness to humble himself for the sake of his sweetheart._

 

Mr Baggins did indeed sit next to Dis that night and did so at many feasts afterwards, when he didn’t sit beside Thorin. Thorin frequently wondered what they were speaking of, their heads bent together, Mr Baggins always listening closely and answering with what seemed to be great consideration. Dis appeared charmed by him, though the way her eyes gleamed whenever she met Thorin’s gaze made his own narrow.

 

Bofur frequently led the musicians in spirited triumphant choruses and called out the dances to encourage more to join in with the whirling stamping figures. Kili and Fili often obliged, delighting the crowds with their whole-hearted movements and ability to converse easily with everyone they danced with, without attaching any promises. Kili was still fixed on the She-Elf, now living in Dale as King Bard’s advisor and captain. He refused to abandon that foolishness even now. Fili had made no preference known yet, despite the many Dwarves who approached with betrothal offers. But there was a tilt to his expression that meant Thorin expected a conversation soon. He remembered Frerin wearing the same look.

 

There was a murmur, pulling Thorin from his thoughts, as Mr Baggins got to his feet and extended a hand and a bow to Dis, evidently asking her to dance. Dis wiped her hands clean and got to her feet with a bright smile. There was a cheer as she took to the floor and Bofur bowed to her with a grin before leading the musicians in a jaunty tune that had many Dwarves slapping tables and tankards in time.

 

That was not surprising; what was surprising was how well Mr Baggins kept up with Dis. He seemed familiar with the steps and kept time smartly. Thorin couldn’t look away. Mr Baggins’ curls bounced as he moved, the rest of him very clearly focused on getting the dance right. This caused it to seem very stilted in his hands, compared to how exuberantly the Dwarves around him were moving, but Mr Baggins rarely put a foot wrong and seemed pleased when he finished correctly, his gaze darting towards Thorin and just as quickly away again. Dis applauded and said something quietly that made Mr Baggins colour slightly but not move away. He bowed and Dis pulled him in line as a different tune began.

 

Mr Baggins knew how to dance to this song too, once again in his unique manner. Dwalin, Ori tucked against his side, laughed too openly at Thorin and poured more ale. Thorin drank, his eyes remaining riveted to Mr Baggins.

 

*

 

_Designing a braid-piece is an important part of courting for Dwarves, as is making the piece itself by hand._

 

“Which is why my husband, Valor keep him, designed it that way.”

 

“And why it was the first he made for you?”

 

“Mmm, he was the finest metalsmith the Blue Mountains ever saw. Look at that filigree. Fili has the same eye for it.”

 

Mr Baggins was sat at a desk, scratching at paper with a long quill pen when Thorin entered the room, drawn by the voices. Whatever Mr Baggins was creating he kept angled away from Thorin, while rising hurriedly to bow. Thorin tried not to linger his gaze on Mr Baggins, a temptation he had recently found himself fighting too often. He turned instead to where Fili was sat as Kili used a wooden comb and nimble fingers to smooth and rebraid his brother’s hair. Kili himself still refused to wear a single braid. He childishly claimed they always unravelled by themselves and got in the way of his archery.

 

Dis was fingering a violet gemstone in an elaborate silver setting, threaded into her hair just above her right ear. Her husband had been highly-accomplished in his trade, the greatest in his guild, and born of one of the noble houses. It was a match Dis and Thorin’s father had approved, wanting to keep the Durin bloodline as rich as possible. Thorin hadn’t been so content; surely a Durin Princess was worthy of more than a silversmith? But there had been no offers of rich betrothals, as Fili now received. In those days, Thorin’s people had been viewed as a poor lot.

 

Kili was humming something tellingly happy, jewelled braid-pieces clenched between his teeth. Fili seemed content to let his brother work without instruction, occasionally teasing him for a snarl or for a braid that needed to be rewoven more than once. Kili pulled his brother’s hair in retaliation but his happy tune never faltered.

 

Mr Baggins was drawing or writing again, his eyebrows low as he moved the quill across the paper. Dis watched the room, her fingers now concerned with sharpening one of her many knives. Her gaze met Thorin’s, amused and almost challenging. She was laughing at him, of that Thorin was sure. He stared narrowly back, questioning her behaviour, but Dis, infuriatingly, seemed only more amused.

 

Fili and Kili were now whispering to one another and when Thorin turned his gaze on them, their voices went instantly silent, their communication running through meaningful expression and gesture. Bilbo was equally silent but that was due to his concentration on his paper and quill. His focus was very distracting and Thorin found himself consumed with watching again; how small the Hobbit’s fingers were as they gripped the quill, how abundantly his hair curled and how it moved, the way his eyes shone as he worked, how his softness still hadn’t entirely left him and how Thorin would not wish it to now.

 

*

 

The guilds had immediately established themselves once occupation of the Mountain had fully taken place. The smiths and miners were the most easily established as there were mines to uncover that needed immediate attention and the furnaces, while unused for too many years, were repairable.

 

The healers were kept busy for many months, as were the weavers and spinners, though no base was established for them until many weeks into the occupancy. The cooks rarely saw a rest and the library was eventually unearthed and books there catalogued by the scribes. Thorin’s Company found their places among the guilds once more; some with membership to more than one - Bofur spent his days with the musicians and tinkers, while Nori was a tinker and his other chief activity of keeping an eye on all goings-on within the Mountain offered no guild membership at all.

 

Mr Baggins seemed fascinated by guild activity and was often seen visiting different areas of the Mountain, writing notes with great interest and asking many polite questions.

 

“They know he’s royally favoured,” was Dwalin’s comment when Thorin asked if any complaints had been received from the guilds.

 

Mr Baggins himself was enthusiastic when discussing the guilds with Thorin during their many talks at meals or afterwards in Thorin’s quarters, both smoking pipes and sat close by. Mr Baggins said he was taking notes for a book that he intended to write about his great adventure to Erebor. Thorin listened to his excited talk, a slight smile beneath his beard at hearing Mr Baggins find so much to like in the Mountain, among Dwarves. If Mr Baggins caught sight of the smile, perhaps it was why he smiled too.

 

He often smelled of the smithys.

 

*

 

_The courting Dwarf will present a second handmade gift – a braid-piece, designed and made with their sweetheart in mind – to declare that their intent has not changed throughout the courting. This usually leads to a public declaration and a betrothal._

 

Someone had been in Thorin’s quarters again. His sharp gaze swept the first room thoroughly, alighting on the small cloth-wrapped parcel left on the chair he usually favoured. His heartbeat seemed to pause for a moment; then Thorin was across the room, touching fabric that seemed very like one of Mr Baggins’ pocket handkerchiefs. Carefully, he unknotted the wrapping and found beneath it a braid-piece fashioned like a single deep-yellow flower still in bud.

 

Thorin stared. There were tiny jewels on it, almost appearing to be as dewdrops around the bud. It was a clever design and certainly not by a Dwarven hand. What use was there for flowers in a Dwarven gift?

 

There was a familiar footfall and Mr Baggins revealed himself, entering from one of Thorin’s other rooms and clutching a sweet-swelling mug in his hands. He was wearing a waistcoat made especially for him by the weavers and spinners; the embroidery was very un-Dwarven. His head was dipped bashfully but he made determined eye contact. The bravery of Hobbits.

 

“In Hobbiton, we court with flowers,” Mr Baggins began, his voice as determined as his gaze. “But I’m in a Dwarven Mountain now and I know it’s not what a Dwarf would make but I am still a Hobbit.”

 

His words were almost defiant, perhaps even expecting rejection. Thorin held Mr Baggins’ gaze, saw nerves bound with the courage to say such things and to give such a gift. Thorin thought of Mr Baggins in Erebor, his behaviour, and saw now perhaps a Dwarven courting in his unique Mr Baggins way. Thorin’s heartbeat seemed to pause again.

 

He lifted the present from the handkerchief and without taking his eyes from Mr Baggins, fixed it midway through his own hair. It would stand out greatly, due to the colour and design, and no Dwarf would be in doubt as to who it had been given by. Thorin looked forward to creating his own gifts and seeing how they looked in Mr Baggins’ fair hair.

 

Mr Baggins’ smile was joyful and wondering and he drew further into the room, the smell from the mug he held as sweet and familiar as his very presence. Thorin offered his hand.

 

“Bilbo.”

 

Bilbo’s smile grew and his tiny warm hand reached and filled Thorin’s. Somehow it the air grew even sweeter and Thorin tucked the discarded handkerchief into his pocket where he intended always to keep it.

 

_-the end_

 


End file.
